Theatre review
Social media is probably the truest sign of our times, which means that our awareness of its manifold implications is not yet fully formed. We are overwhelmed by its swift evolutions and embroiled in its persistent intrusions, riding its waves of euphoria without a thorough understanding of what it all means, and more pressingly, its impact upon modern and future lives. Like Me delves into the technological manifestations of our narcissism to explore the worst aspects of our self-obsession, in a surreal language that articulates fluently our emotions and incoherent thoughts about this new slice and era of human history. The show is scathing and critical of selfie culture, finding ways to question its pervasive consumption, and exploring its dangers and famous fatalities. Without ever naming names, it discusses platforms and personalities that fuel the compulsive need for popularity, egomania and greed, thereby creating an updated artistic expression to the way we juxtapose the now classic relationship between capitalism and love.

Duncan Maurice’s direction is interested in the grotesque and morbid, yet a sickening cuteness is omnipresent. His work brings to the fore, a conflation of our deceptive and hypocritical style of contemporary communications, à la Jekyll and Hyde, that presents a very public face that betrays the truth behind our computerised selves. 9 characters, sensationally dressed by Alex PF Jackson to look like Teletubbies at a Comme des Garçons fashion show, frantically and maniacally scamper around us, feeding an absurd need for affirmation, slaves to a non-existing, imagined higher calling that demands their energy and allegiance.

Beautifully and innovatively created by set designers Gemma O’Nions and Louie Diamontaye, and lighting designer Christopher Page, the place is a mad house with players that are intimidating and intrusive, but we do not leave. It is pleasurable and seductive, and we comply. The cast is extraordinarily cohesive with its style, dialect and presence. They are one organism that pulses the same, even though individual personalities are brilliantly cultivated. Latisha Owens is frighteningly bold as Poppy, an ultra vivacious self-styled sex bomb of the internet whose torturous desperation dictates the tone of proceedings. Moreblessing Maturure portrays an adorable innocent Sarah-Jay , pure of spirit but nonetheless entangled and sadly corrupted. The performers are all wide eyed and entranced, intoxicated by tech, but their souls tell a different story, which we hear quite subconsciously in the thrilling soundscapes and music of David Herrero.

Scenes in Like Me can at times be repetitive, and its cataclysmic aura can become predictable, but its resonances catch you by surprise, and they hit home. The work offers a solution to the problems it rants about, but it feels futile. The pessimism we encounter, not only in the show, is overwhelming, but it is truthful. There is no easy answer to our predicament, but what the production does achieve is to put in perspective what our instincts know to be wrong in our culture today. It is complicated and complex, and this is no watered down interpretation of issues. How we progress beyond this point in time is anybody’s guess, but for now, there is no better snapshot on offer, of our online beings, warts and hashtags and all.

Theatre review
Nineteen actors in a beautifully preserved old building present a simple story about politics. We navigate our way through rooms and characters, observing and speaking with these mysterious people, trying to piece together narratives, and to find an understanding of each personality’s agenda, and also what the artists are attempting to convey. The action centres around Lara, who is presented on the ground floor as a student leader of the left, and in a different room upstairs, she is an older politician raising funds to become the head of her right-wing party.

There is a certain amount of chaos from the immersive experiment that keeps us on our toes. It is challenging work that does not let its audience feel comfortable at any point, and director Duncan Maurice is determined for his work to be intriguing and thought-provoking. Placing his actors at such close proximity, we are forced to engage and interpret. Maurice leaves us no room to hide, and we are pressured into taking a stand. The performance feels slightly longer than its eighty minutes. The unusual format leaves us to compose a cohesive tale from many disparate fragments, but unravelling the riddles does not take much time. We are then left to loiter around the hallways waiting for a conclusion of some description to occur, which fortunately, does eventuate, and in quite spectacular style.

Julia Landrey plays X, a member of the student union who proves to be more radical than her peers. X is often positioned alone, so that when we encounter her, she is free to express hidden beliefs that might be too controversial for her comrades. The nature of the work requires a good amount of thick-skinned daring from its cast, and Landrey’s strength ensures that she connects well, even though the role’s presence is an intimidating one. Her impressive improvisational skills allow for brilliant conversations to unfold, and we find ourselves becoming more involved than ever anticipated.

Some of the group is less effective, but they all contribute to the unusual carnival flavour that the production will be remembered for. There are instances where characters seem narrow in scope, which often lead to a shallow sense of plot and oversimplification of ideas. A substantial part of the discussion The Age Of Entitlement aims to inspire, is the tension between the left and right of politics, and the way Australian society shapes its attitudes according to convenient alliances.

The production is well designed. Alex PF Jackson’s work for makeup, hair and costumes especially, are noteworthy. Set and lights are slightly less polished, but spaces are adequately dressed to evoke a sense of fantasy and transportative theatricality.

Political theatre gives voice to causes and groups, and on occasion, it changes minds. This show does not tell us what to think, but it espouses the importance of holding beliefs and standing up for them. Almost contradictory is the way it interrogates our practice of identifying with political sides, but that conflict gives the work a meaningful complexity that feels resonant with our lived experiences. Maybe a few people will begin to think differently of their political attitudes from attending Entitlement, but more likely is its effect on how we think of theatre’s relationship with the public and its modes of expression. There is so much to be explored when artists and audience meet, especially when all the old rules are broken.